


Even more complicated

by mrstrentreznor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstrentreznor/pseuds/mrstrentreznor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent is an expert at putting all her weapons away, but Derek took them off, so he can put them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even more complicated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I was reading MeraNaamJoker's one shot 'never simple' and had some suggestions... and she told me to write them!   
> you might need to read it first for context... or not  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1323418  
> marked with a ** for the test taken from her one shot

_**Once again, the smile disappears, and she writhes with frustration, digging her nails into her arms and raking them down until they draw blood. Anything for chaos, even damaging the host. Swearing, Derek leaps across the room and grabs her wrists to stop her. She laughs again, taking a faux-playful snap at his face with her teeth in a move that’s almost wolfish. “That’s better. I think about you holding me sometimes, you know. Of course I didn’t expect it to go quite like this...”_

_He can’t think how to answer, because the admission has the feel of genuine candor, and that candor does weird things to his gut._

_Before he can dig up a response, her eyes roll back in her head. Black blood starts to trickle from her nose and mouth. Horror shoots through him—Paige, she looks just like Paige and this can’t happen again—and he catches her to his chest as she slumps, unconscious. “Allison. Allison!”_

_She doesn’t respond, but the sound of her heartbeat, steady and calm, reaches through the gathering haze of panic to steady him. Maybe it’s over. Maybe he bought enough time for Scott to fix things. He cradles her in his arms anyway, too freaked out by the blood to believe his own reassurances._

_When her heartbeat speeds up a little, a few minutes later, he removes the shackles and then crosses to the other side of the room, checking his phone. Her eyes open, and she’s on her feet within seconds. “Derek?”_

_“Gear up,” he tells her, indicating the pile of discarded weaponry at his feet. “Scott needs us.”**_

 

“Allison?” he checks when she doesn’t move.

“I-I need…” she waves at her face. The smears of black blood are drying and her arms look scratched and sore.

“Clean up. Right.” He hands her a clean towel and grabs the first aid kit while she goes to the bathroom to wash off the external signs of her internal struggle.

When she exits, he holds up the antiseptic; asking permission wordlessly.

She nods; accepting the same way.

Standing close to her, her head below his as she watches him wash and bandage her wounds, all he can smell is her. That melange of scents peculiar to the Argents - a mix of gun oil, metal and bowstring wax. It reminds him of Kate.

Her heartbeat skips and he finds himself listening for it; noting that the skips match the times he is pressing against her flesh to hold her arm steady. Her fist clenches and she winces.

“I don’t heal as fast as you do,” she notes.

“No.” Human. She’s only human and she fights with them. Now his touch is probably more gentle than it needs to be.

She pulls her arm away suddenly.

“Sorry,” he apologises.

“No. it wasn’t-” She bites her lip and shakes her head.

“I need to finish.”

She sighs and lets him hold her arm again. Now her scent is stronger or is it that he is more aware of her closeness? He half wishes he was back on the other side of the room but he feels guilty; she got hurt because he was too far away to stop her raking herself with her own nails.

“What is it?’ he asks in a low voice.

“You… held me,” she accuses.

He isn’t capable of dealing with this; not now, but she needs an answer. “I also shackled you.” He tries to be flippant and fails. The sudden spike in her heart rate surprises him. It shouldn’t; her aunt liked chains and cuffs. “It wasn’t you,” he repeats.

“You knew I was in there.”

“Yes.”

“And you still held me.”

“Yes.” He looks at her face; searches her eyes for something, he isn’t sure what. The truth? Did the nogitsune tap into her real thoughts and feelings? He wants to tell her to stay away from him. He wants to say that everyone he is involved with gets hurt or worse. But she knows that. He has wondered sometimes why the Argent women are so fascinated with werewolves. “I needed to check you were okay,” he justifies.

She knows it is a lie, even without wolf senses. He is such a bad liar.

They look at each other and it is a real look, with a tinge of want. Oh, Hell.

And as if her thoughts have followed his, she says, “I’m sorry Kate hurt you.”

He nods once, curtly. Chris will just shoot him if he touches her.

But he wants to.

She takes a tiny step closer to him. “This isn’t over,” she whispers. “But we need to go.”

She could put her own gear on in minutes or maybe seconds; the Argents probably practise it for hours, but she hands the pile of weapons to him. “Do you remember where they all go?” she flirts.

He has the chance to give them back to her; to insist that she could do it faster herself, but he doesn’t. He can’t resist a spin of the ring dagger before he holds it up and points at her waist.

She lifts her arms up so that he can strap both daggers back into their sheaths. His face is too close in against her neck; first one side, then the other. The taser is next. For the boot blade he raises an eyebrow.

She steps very close to him, puts her hands on his shoulders and lifts her leg up behind her. A pose reminiscent of old time movie kisses. He can feel her fingers grip his body. His head drops lower and he holds her ankle in one hand as he deftly returns the tiny blade to its compartment with the other hand. He avoids thinking about sliding anything else in anywhere but she loses her balance and falls against him and they both inhale sharply. He doesn’t care if it was deliberate or not.

His fingers stroke down her leg as the ankle blade is strapped into place.

“Last one,” she purrs, holding the blade that lives in a sheath on her upper thigh.

He stares at her, takes the blade from her palm, lifts it to his face and scents it.

She makes the most adorable little noise; a breathy sigh that he decides he wants to hear again. The whiff of the same scent that saturates the knife gets stronger as her excitement becomes palpable.

“Does it go here?” he asks, as he lifts her hand and brushes the back of it against his cheek.

“No.” Her voice is shaky, but she seems unable to look away from his face.

“Here?” A brush of fingers along the underside of her upper arm, where the skin is soft and super sensitive.

“No.” She shivers and her nipples peak.

He licks his lips. “Here?” A gentle slide of his palm down her back that coincidentally pulls her closer to him.

“No.”

“Here?” His hand holds her at the hip.

“No.” She is leaning into his face now, her lips parted and her breath coming in small pants.

Finally, his fingers brush over the sheath just under the hemline of her skirt. “Here?”

“Yes,” she says.

Their lips press together. She smells of all the Argent things, tinged with black blood and a scent that he will forever associate with her thighs. The kiss is gentle and soft and interrupted by his phone.

“Dammit,” she swears.

It’s Peter to ask _him_ what is going on. He crouches down to strap the blade in and he can’t help pressing his lips against the strap around her thigh. She holds his head against her body and runs her fingers though his hair. It pleases him that her hand will retain his scent for the rest of the day. It pleases him that she knows this. He likes smart women.

He starts to think that maybe there are better anchors than anger.

“I’m ready,” she says. “Let’s go.”

Together, they leave to join their Alpha.


End file.
